Blessed Storm
by flightofanangel
Summary: They were snowed in, but she didn't mind. He was appalled at his impropriety, but she didn't mind. In fact, she found she rather enjoyed being in his company. Very much so.


**Please please review this one-shot, tell me what you think! I worked super hard on it to create the tone and imagery that I was striving for.**

 **Purely fluff, tbh, and relationship milestones.**

"How long do you think it will be until the storm lets up?" The stairs creaked as they made our way up to the last room available in the inn.

"I don't know", he said simply, opening the door for her before stepping in himself, his careful gaze examining the room briefly. Christine removed her previously frozen cloak which had begun to thaw now that they were indoors.

"I will be… around if you need me", he turned to leave before she placed a hand on his arm.

"Wait, why are you leaving? Please don't leave". His confused gaze searched hers, a fleeting look of worry. Christine slipped her hand down to take his hand in her icy one. She briefly marveled at the fact that for once, his hand was warmer than hers.

Without a word, he shut the door with a light thump, leaving them closed off to the rest of the world, to the storm raging outside. Standing on the tips of her toes, Christine untied his also frozen cloak, hanging it next to hers to thaw and dry. A shiver overtook her small body, dress growing heavy from the melting snow. His eyes lingered upon hers before escaping to start a fire in the small, stone fireplace. It provided a needed distraction from her tender gestures.

Christine tied back her wet tendrils, standing at the solitary window of the room, watching as wind whisked away just-fallen snow, carrying current snowfall along with it. She frankly had no idea where they were. They had been riding back from their visit to her father's grave, a visit that she had insisted he take with her this time. Obviously wavering away from the path back to the Opera House, they had ended up here.

She felt a heavy blanket being draped around her shoulders and smiled gratefully at the source of it. As before, her hand crept out amidst the layers of fabric to clutch his, warming the both of them.

He was sure his heart and breath stopped every time she did that, which, to his dismay, had happened countless times on their journey today. It both amazed him and frightened him, her frivolous touches here and there. Now she was asking if he was cold, her voice breaking the cold silence that had surrounded them so many times today.

Struggling with his tall frame, she attempted to wrap the blanket around him as well, taking his silence as a confirmation that he, too, was cold. The blanket ended up on the floor in her attempts, her small laughter filling the room with more warmth as she bent to pick it up. She was nervous, she didn't know why she was nervous.

When she shivered again, she was unsure if it was from the cold. But Erik secured the blanket around her once more, and they were engulfed with uninterrupted quiet once more.

And then her eyes began to close, sleep dominating her small self. Sleep amplified the coldness that she felt, and, half-asleep and almost swaying on her feet, she leaned into Erik, her head rested against his chest. The fight to stay awake continued until she was whisked off her feet and set gently onto the bed that stood in one corner of the room.

"Erik?" she murmured from behind sleep-fogged eyes. He was immediately by her side once more. "Stay with me".

He hesitated before sitting on the edge of the bed, feeling like an intruder in her peacefulness. Once again, she reached for his hand and grasped it before finally tumbling into a deep slumber.

Many times he considered standing up to leave her alone, to abandon her small grip on him. But it was impossible, and instead he found himself laying as well, as far as he could be from her while still keeping her hand in his. And never had he fallen asleep as fast as he did in that moment, a peaceful, relaxing sleep that was rare to come by.

Christine could feel his weight press into the bed beside her, could hear his breathing even out. So she wriggled closer to him, cheek pressed against his shoulder and absolute content filling her entirety before she fell back asleep.

When he awoke, it was the most luxurious feeling he had ever allowed himself to have. Legs entwined with hers in a search for warmth, her small body pressed against his. But this feeling of comfort and contentedness was soon replaced with utter panic and fear that _he did not belong_. Dear God this was so wrong, what had ever possessed him to merely sit next to her sleeping, innocent form?

He jolted up, glancing down at her still form before taking the distance to the door in five long strides. His hand was on the doorknob, he needed fresh air, needed to be reminded that he _had no right, how dare he_ even allow her to touch him… "Erik?" Her groggy voice drew him out of the thoughts of self-worthlessness swirling in a never-ending manner in his mind.

But why stop, why wait and listen to her disgust and fear and hate as she realized that he was _sleeping next to her_ the entire time? Yet as he heard her small voice, saw her petite frame sit up and stretch delicately, porcelain arms glowing against the firelight, he knew he must succumb.

"Where are you going?" She attempted in vain to tame the mass of curls that had almost doubling in size during her sleep, giving up with an exasperated sigh.

"Out", he said. He dare not meet her gaze, knowing at any minute she may question why the sheets next to her were so rumpled, what he had done while she was asleep, why his clothing was tousled from sleep…

" _Ange_ it's still snowing outside, stay here where it's warm". Christine pushed off the blanket, now completely dry from their previous outing. She was too calm, too collected and reasonable. He suspected she wasn't even aware that he had slept next to her.

It was too much. "No. I shall return", he managed to say before hurrying out the door.

Christine frowned and got to her feet, Erik's cloak in hand and prepared to chase after him to ensure he would remain warm. She peeked her head out the door, yet of course there was no sign of him.

Grasping the cloak to her chest, she heaved an exasperated sigh. Why was he like this? Her small, tender touches, did he not realize what he meant to her?

She placed his cloak back on its hook, missing the warmth of it and of him she had relished so earlier. She wished he hadn't gotten up, it would have been pleasant had he stayed…

Waiting for him to return without even knowing where he had gone proved to be another challenge. Any sound forced her to cast her eyes over to the still-closed door, and frustration grew every time it did not open. Some snowfall had packed onto the window, yet she could still see how bad the storm had left things. Now only soft snowflakes fell haphazardly, and yet the wind still took them as its own, whisking them every which way.

And finally, he had arrived, white flecks of snow dotting his dark hair and shoes glistening with already-melted snow. Christine rushed to him, draping the blanket over his shoulders and brushing the snow off of him. "You should have taken your cloak", she murmured, finally finishing her duty of defrosting and stepping back to look at him.

However her actions did not come off as lightly to Erik. In fact, he was quite shaken by her tenderness and caring. Never before had he had someone tell him to take heed of the cold outside, to care for his warmth, to be concerned about his whereabouts.

Christine did not question where he went, did not ask about his abrupt departure. Instead, she led him to sit down on the bed, sitting down beside him and adjusting the blanket to cover more of his slender frame.

Once more, her hand was in his, and once more, her head was against his shoulder. "Did you sleep well?" she asked, voicing her concern yet again.

He stiffened. It was a tactic, a tactic to approach the topic he had been so dreading since he'd awoke. Of course, Christine was too polite to outwardly approach him on his impropriety, his disgusting behavior. This had to be her way of getting him to admit the monstrous thing he had done.

"I'm sorry", he whispered, his usual constant and impressive facade gone as his eyes met hers with absolute shame.

"Wh-what?" Her brows furrowed in confusion. What did he have to be sorry for? What had he done?

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done it". The whisper again. Christine moved off the bed to kneel in front of him, as he was blatantly avoided any eye contact now.

She gently lifted his chin, thumb skimming the skin of his unmasked cheek in a tender caress. "Erik, what is it? Is anything wrong?" Her pure, angelic voice along with her light feather touches almost became his undoing to disappear right then and there.

But why was she being so naive? He was used to her innocence, but by now he had expected an outburst perhaps, a look of disgust. Not this, dare he even consider it as this, _loving_ caress.

"You… I-I fell asleep next to you", he blurted out. "I'm so sorry", his anguish reflected in his words, and a pause from Christine made him want to disappear and die, in that order.

What he expected was her to fling herself away from him, to curse his name and choke back sobs. He did not expect her beautiful smile to bring amusement into her eyes, still kind and gentle as they looked upon his. He was surprised the storm continued, even though the heavens had surely opened to glimpse upon that smile.

" _Ange_ … Erik, it's alright. That does not matter. It was…" a rosy blush here, " quite warm and comforting". This time it was her turn to tear her gaze away, reminiscing upon how content and at peace she had felt pressed against him, his breath even and facade of an Opera Ghost gone, and in its place the study figure of a man.

Erik was quite convinced that his wish had come through, he had probably died. Maybe death wasn't so bad after all, especially due to the absolute tenderness reflected in Christine's voice that thawed his soul.

And then her soft, ethereal lips were placed on his cheek, right above where her thumb had previously hovered. She resumed her place next to him as if nothing had happened, adjusting the blanket again as it had slipped down his shoulders. It was too surreal.

He had probably died.


End file.
